Comfort
by LillieGrey
Summary: One-shots and prompt responses primarily focused on Regina and moments throughout the course of the series. Ratings may change dependent upon chapters.
1. Comfort Part 1

It's been three weeks, two days and seven hours since her life was irrevocably shattered. Five hundred and fifty nine hours since she last held her son in her arms.

Sleep is hard to come by. Her days are filled with matters of state, constant meetings with the Un-Charmings and their rag tag group of councilors, scouting missions attempting to gather any clues about her sister's next move, and hours spent scouring books in the library for any grains of information that may help defeat this Wicked Witch all fill her waking hours with the necessary distraction she needs to simply keep breathing. It's the evenings that prove more difficult to handle.

Only after everyone has safely gone to bed, the torches have all been doused, and silence wraps itself around the palace walls like a comforting blanket does she allow herself to freely think of her son, her Henry. She painstakingly removes the pins from her hair allowing the thick ebony curls to fall across her back, wipes her face of makeup, and peels layer upon structured layer of corsetry, leather, and twinkling jewels from her skin until every trace of the evil queen is gone and she is once again Regina, once again _Mom_. She puts on a simple silk nightgown and stares out at the evening sky from her balcony and wonders if her little boy is looking at the same moon she sees from a realm away. She wonders if he's gotten any taller or if the soft little boy roundness of his cheeks has started to sharpen into the angular structure of a teenager. She thinks of his smile and his laugh and the way his head fits perfectly in the crook of her neck when he hugs her. She remembers every minute detail of him that she can while staring into the brightness of the midnight sky until she is finally calm enough to try and sleep, but tonight there is no moon.

A dense layer of rolling grey clouds covers the sky blocking any possible glimpse of the peaceful orb she has come to rely on in the last few weeks. Suddenly the solitude of her rooms seems suffocating and oppressive and she itches to be anywhere but where she is. Tugging her heavy, red damask robe from its resting place on the bed she knots it securely over her hip and heads for the door, perhaps a visit to her apple tree will provide the solace she so desperately needs.

…

The biting cold of the courtyard tiles is a welcome sensation; the stinging pain coasting along her feet reminding her that she is in fact still grounded here and alive despite the untethered emotional numbness she feels. She pads silently over to her beloved apple tree and sits on the bench in front of it staring up at the cloud covered sky hoping to catch a glimpse of moonlight between the clouds. She is only there a few minutes before she feels the familiar sensation of someone watching her from the shadows of the courtyard. She allows the observation for a few moments before calling over her shoulder, "You can come out now. I know you're there."

Turning her face back to the empty sky she senses the presence stalk from the shadows and take a seat beside her on the bench. "What are you doing here?" she asks without every removing her gaze from the expansive darkness of the sky.

"I couldn't sleep and I often find comfort in looking at the moon on restless evenings."

She is about to remark on the lack of a moon, when there is an unexpected break in the clouds and the silver glow of moonlight washes over the courtyard. They sit there jointly staring at the glowing orb above them until the voice beside her breaks the tentative silence. "I didn't see you at the evening meal."

"How very perceptive of you," she bites back without bothering to look over.

At that, a single work-worn hand reaches out and tucks an errant ebony curl behind her ear and then rests for a moment on her cheek. She briefly leans into the warm, calloused fingers, closing her eyes to revel in the touch, before she catches herself and pulls her face away. Her own hand comes up to forcefully tuck the errant strand more securely behind her ear as if to erase the lingering sensation of the other.

She looks over then and meets the penetrating gaze that is focused on her for the first time. She wonders if they see the way her collarbones jut out more sharply now then they did a month ago, the darkness that has gathered under her eyes, and the pallor that has overtaken her skin. They must because they suddenly soften into an emotion she can't quite place, concern or understanding possibly. Breaking the uncomfortable eye contact she returns her gaze upward intently focused on the patterns created by the thin clouds ghosting over the moon.

"You can't keep doing this Regina."

At that she whips her head to the side, eyes wide with surprise. She can count on one hand the number of people bold enough to call her by her given name, especially within the confines of the castle. Only to be met with those same soft eyes full of undiscernible emotion.

"He wouldn't want this for you, and you know it."

She closes her eyes then and turns her face away. Traitorous tears are stinging behind her eyes and she refuses to appear any weaker than she already is in front of anyone. She struggles to find a sharp retort to hiss back, but the simple truth in those words saps all the bite out of her. Thankfully the person sitting next to her senses her discomfort and sighs before standing to leave.

"I expect to see you at breakfast in the morning, or I will come to your chambers and drag your royal ass out of bed myself."

"Don't hold your breath wolf," she calls over her shoulder with a slight smirk. She waits until she hears the gruff grunt of a reply and the stooped figure of the older woman is completely gone before turning her face back to catch the last glimmer of moonlight before it is swallowed by the ever-present grey clouds once again. She lingers there a moment waiting to see if the clouds will recede to give her a glimpse of the moon's reassuring presence once more before she releases a sigh and heads back to her cold empty chambers where she is certain sleep will evade her once again.


	2. Comfort Part 2

**_Author's note: So I've decided to continue this. It will now be a series of one-shots primarily focused on Regina and moments throughout the course of the series. Thank you all for your lovely comments and follows! I have a few ideas for some more chapters, but I'm happy to take prompts for this or anything else you'd like to throw at me. Comments and criticism are welcome as always. I'm still very new to this so anything you have for me is greatly appreciated. Xx_**

They get into a habit of sorts over the course of the coming weeks. It's never spoken, but there is no need to put what they are doing into words. She arrives each evening and waits in the shadows until the queen nods her head or calls her over and they sit together in the silence of the courtyard and take what comfort they can from being in one another's presence.

Sometimes they talk and sometimes they don't, it's simply whatever is needed at the time. They trade lists of things they miss from Storybrooke (whiskey and electricity for her and coffee and hot running water for the queen topping the lists), but they always carefully avoid talking about the thing they know they both miss most, Henry. Each evening ends the same way, with Granny demanding she eat more and look after herself and the queen offering a biting retort about how if the food were better maybe she would be able to stomach it, before they both separate to go to their respective rooms feeling a little less empty than before.

This carries on for several weeks until one night she arrives at the usual time to find her spot on their bench occupied by someone else, the archer Robin Hood. At first she wants to leave them alone, she doesn't want to intrude upon the queen's privacy, but then the wolf rears its protective head and she slinks back into the cover of darkness to watch over the pair. The queen puts up a good front with her acerbic wit and stinging comments, but Granny knows that she is still a fragile, heartbroken woman and while Robin seems to be a decent, honorable man she doesn't know him well enough yet to wholly trust him around the grieving monarch.

The outlaw is leaning back on his elbows with his legs stretched out in front of him with an air of casual comfort that contrasts with the straight-backed rigidity of the woman sitting beside him. They make quite the striking pair bathed in the warm glow of the moon and twinkling brightness of the stars. He is earth and warmth, dimples and laughter and she is cool and stoic, sarcasm and narrowed eyes. The arresting image they make only matched by the endless cycle of banter that charges between them like an elaborate dance.

He whispers something to her that makes her laugh, it's a bitter choked little sound, but it's the closest thing she's heard to mirth coming from the queen in months. That little release seems to ease the tension lingering in the air and Granny decides that maybe she can release the queen to the thief's care for the evening and she slips away unnoticed back to the comfort of her rooms.

...

The following evening she begins a new pattern, a pattern of silent observation from afar. She still arrives each night as she always has, but now she watches as the outlaw takes up the position she has held over the last few weeks beside the queen. Regina still arrives each evening in her full regalia, wearing every inch of leather, lace, and boning like the armor that it is, hair and makeup perfectly styled into the mask of strength and indifference than only she and the thief know to be a façade.

Things start out simple enough, the thief seamlessly fits himself into the role she had occupied previously either sitting silently or trading light comments here and there when words are needed, but gradually things begin to change. The first few nights there is a distinct distance between the queen and the outlaw, a physical gap that is not to be crossed until one evening the queen arrives with her hair half down, loose curls coasting down her back and Robin can no longer resist the urge to reach out and curl one of the long silky tendrils around his fingers. The touch is brief, but the queen notices and over the coming days she begins to wear her hair down more often, choosing styles that leave portions of her shining curls hanging down her back instead of the elaborate updos she tends to favor that leave her hair sculpted and pinned into submission. It's a subtle change, but still noticeable.

The following evening the pair decides to wander around the courtyard while they chat instead of lingering on the bench as usual. Granny is careful to sink herself further into the darkness of the surrounding walls to avoid being spotted by them, but she is still able to see clearly when the queen loosely drapes her arm through the crook of the outlaws elbow, delicate fingers resting just above his wrist as they continue to walk. The thief looks over at the touch and the queen simply raises an eyebrow as if to dare him to say something and he simply chuckles and drags his lower lip up with his teeth and grins at her with a soft dimpled smile Granny notices he reserves only for the queen.

The next morning Granny passes her in the hallway as she rushes off for yet another meeting with the Un-Charmings and she can't help but notice how some of the color has returned to the queen's face. A slight glow has tinged her cheeks and the dullness behind her eyes seems to have brightened just a bit. Perhaps the thief is useful for something after all.

…

Things continue on like that for another week. The queen and the outlaw meet in the evenings and stroll together in the privacy of darkness always guarded by the ever watchful eyes of the protective wolf who lurks in the shadows. Until one day the queen locks herself away in her rooms, refusing all visitors or any food that is sent to her chambers. Snow warns the residents of the castle to give the queen a wide berth for the day when she calmly announces at breakfast that today is Henry's birthday.

Granny rushes through her chores for the day and enters her position in the courtyard earlier than normal with every intention of telling the outlaw that his presence this evening will not be welcome, but when she arrives she sees him already there pacing back and forth with a look of concern so deeply etched into his forehead that she forces herself to wait and see where things go. He finally gives up pacing and sits heavily on the bench, his tension still present in the bouncing of his knees. They don't have to wait long before the queen enters the courtyard in a similar state to how Granny found her that first night so long ago. Her face is scrubbed of makeup and her eyes are red and puffy from where she has certainly been crying. Her hair is wild, hanging heavily down her back, a few gentle curls blowing lightly across her face in the evening wind. She is completely stripped of any semblance of the evil queen as she stands there, barefoot, frozen in place wearing a simple cream silk nightgown covered by a deep midnight blue robe that is knotted securely at her waist.

"What are you doing here?" she practically growls at the thief as he quickly stands from his reclined position on the bench.

"I didn't see you around the palace today. I simply wanted to check and make sure things were alright."

"I'm fine. There, you've done your check, now will you go?"

She watches as the thief leaves his position beside the bench and moves closer to the queen. Sees how he studies her face, takes in the redness of her eyes and the tear tracks on her cheeks glistening in the moonlight. He moves forward then and gently rubs his thumb along her cheek wiping away the remnants of a tear before cupping the side of her face with his palm and leans in to whisper, "I am not convinced. What is it Regina? What can I do to help?"

The queen looks up at him then, no, not the queen, _Regina_ because that is who she is now barefoot and broken looking up at the thief with grief shining so heavily in her eyes Granny can see it clearly from her hiding spot across the courtyard. Those eyes just stare up at him searching his face as if she is gauging his sincerity and deciding where exactly she wants this moment to go. Something in her gaze falters then and her voice cracks over the words as she answers him, "I just want the pain to go away."

Granny watches as the thief cards his hand through the loose hair at the back of her neck and tilts her head up to meet his lips in a gentle kiss. When she hears the whimper the queen releases in the back of her throat at the contact, she almost steps in to stop him, but just as she moves into the moonlit portion of the courtyard that whimper breaks into a sob. She watches as Robin releases his hold on the back of her neck, lightly sliding his hand down her back in comforting strokes as the queen crumples into his arms shaking with sobs and clutching desperately to the lapels of his jacket.

She steps back into her place in the shadows and watches as the thief sits back down on the bench, pulling Regina with him into the comforting circle of his arms. She listens as he whispers soothing words into her ear and presses a kiss to the top of her head never stopping the repetitive slide of his hand up and down her back. For the first time in all the weeks she has stood guard over the couple, for she feels that is what they are now, she trusts the outlaw to look after the queen and she leaves them alone to their privacy.

…

The next morning she heads to the kitchens to begin preparing things for the morning meal and she finds a single folded piece of paper waiting for her on her table.

_I know you have been watching us. I promise you she is safe with me. Thank you for caring for her, just as I do. _

_ Robin_

Carefully refolding the paper she slips it into the pocket of her apron where she knows it will be safe and goes about her morning routine with a smile on her face. She never returns to the courtyard at midnight again.


	3. In Sickness

**Ok, this one is for butterflykisses0****who sent me this lovely prompt: "****_How about one where Regina throws up in front of Robin and he takes care of her..."_**

**I'm not sure if this is what you had in mind, but I hope you like it! Sorry for the delay! Again, comments and prompts are always welcome! Thank you all for the lovely messages you have left me already, here and on tumblr, they truly bring a smile to my face. Xx**

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"I never liked pets," she snarls as she hurls another fireball at the flying monstrosity quickly racing toward her head.

"There are too many of them!" He hears Snow cry from across the courtyard as she notches another arrow before releasing it, squarely hitting her target in the neck.

"Milady! Behind you!" He calls out across the courtyard as he desperately pulls an arrow from his quiver to fend off the beast that is swopping toward Regina's back. He watches as she swivels around and quickly launches anther orb of fire at the winged creature that is swiftly approaching. The speed of her turn throws off her aim and she grazes the left side of the monster's wings, barely slowing its progression, but that gives him enough time to loose the arrow he has pulled and he sighs in relief when the beast cries out and disappears before his eyes as the arrow hits its target. The queen looks over at him then and nods her thanks with the ghost of a smile gracing her lips.

Their tender moment is short-lived, however, as they are both forced back into the fray of the battle going on around them. Arrows are being fired from every direction across the courtyard from a mix of his Merry Men, Snow White, and the Widow Lucas's crossbow. The Prince stands near the queen in the center of the courtyard fending off as many as possible with his sword while the queen fires off round after fiery round at the masses of creatures swarming the skies above the palace. The courtyard is filled with the acrid stench of blood, smoke and magic and the sound of unearthly screeching, the clash of weaponry, and the desperate shouting of warning calls and frustration. This is the third time this week Zelena has sent a flock of her demented pets to the castle and fatigue is begging to overtake the group.

"Enough of this!" He hears her call from across the courtyard, and he watches in a mixture of horror and awe as she flexes both hands calling forth a flickering ball of flame within both palms. She thrusts her arms upward toward the sky and the flames erupt forth creating a blanket of fire across the sky leaving the smell of singed fur and panicked animalistic shrieks in its wake. The few remaining creatures not caught in the queens impressive net of fire quickly turn and streak away from the castle, disappearing into the darkness of the night sky.

He watches as Regina lowers her shaking hands and releases a sigh before turning to assess the damage left in the wake of this round of fighting. Looping his bow over his back he quickly examines the queen from his perch on the wall, taking note of how her chest still heaves as she catches her breath and the way the right shoulder of her dress has darkened with blood from a deep claw mark across her collarbone. He longs for nothing more than to rush across the courtyard and take her in his arms and reassure himself that she is safe, but he knows such an open display of affection would not be welcome in such a public space. He contents himself with moving closer, jumping down from his elevated space and striding across the courtyard until he is standing an arms-length away from her along with the prince and princess.

"We can't keep going like this for much longer. There has to be some way of preventing them from entering the castle grounds, or at least preparing for their attacks," the prince sighs, the exhaustion of the previous battle evident in his voice.

"What about a protection spell? Like the one Zelena had up when we arrived?" Snow questions, her face lighting up with hope.

"That could work," the queen answers, quirking one eyebrow up in thought, "but I would have to use a spell that can't be broken by blood magic in order to prevent her from disabling it."

"Well, can you do it or not?" The prince asks with an exasperated huff.

"Yes, I can," she bites back narrowing her eyes at the other royal. "It's a complicated spell, so it will take some time and quite a bit of energy."

"Milady, perhaps we should wait until your wounds have been tended to and you've had an opportunity to rest," he ventures while stepping toward the queen, concern clearly shining from his eyes.

"There isn't time! She could send another flock of those creatures to attack us at any moment and we can't keep fighting like this," Charming responds as he wipes the blood and grit from his sword before securing it in the sheath at his hip.

He is just about to voice another protest when the queen's voice interrupts, "The prince is right; we need to do this now." With a wave of her hand the chest of ingredients from her chambers appears in a puff of purple smoke on the dais in the center of the courtyard. The queen quickly marches over to it, expertly flicking open the lid and pulling various bottles full of powders and liquids from within. He watches as she drops careful measures of each necessary item into the cauldron in front of her before gently returning each vial to its rightful place inside the box. When she has finished with the ingredients she gingerly closes the lid and the box disappears once again just as quickly as it appeared.

She steps up to the lip of the cauldron, straightening her back and squaring her shoulders, raising her wrists over the bowl as if they are being draw up by invisible strings before her delicate fingers snap out and a faint light extends from their flexed tips. Something crackles in the air and raises the hair on the back of his neck and the courtyard suddenly feels charged and alive. The faint glow from her fingers has extended into the cauldron igniting the contents within and sudden flames burst forth from its depths.

Where the flames of Zelena's spell had been a sickly, disturbing green color, the fire that is conjured now is a bright electric purple interspersed with bits of violet and deep plum. A bright column of fire surges forth from the center of the flames and shoots straight up into the sky above the castle. There is a sudden crack heard in the air as the pillar of fire reaches its peak and thin tendrils of lilac extend in all directions like spiders' silk across the sky around the palace and grounds. The air suddenly seems to shimmer as the lace like tendrils extend toward the ground and Robin is certain he has never seen anything quite so beautiful or terrifying in all of his life. When the lilac colored magic has finally reached is resting place on the ground fully encasing the palace within its protective bubble, Regina's hands flex and fall to her side breaking the glowing connection she has created with the flames still dancing within the cauldron.

"There. It's finished." She says as she turns on shaky legs to face the group of shell-shocked bystanders. As she moves to descend the stairs from the dais her knees buckle, but before she hits the ground two strong arms have grasped her around the bend of her waist.

"Let me go thief," she rasps out through gritted teeth with as much venom as she can muster.

"I will, as soon as I'm certain you're capable of standing on your own," he cuts back with a smirk trying to cover how concerned he is.

"Robin, please. I feel like I'm going to be sick." As soon as those words have cleared her lips she lurches forward at the waist and empties the contents of her stomach. He quickly slides one arm securely around her middle holding her up as she spasms in his arms, while his other hand swoops up to scoop her hair away from her neck and face. She is coughing and sputtering, desperately trying to draw breath between the heaves wracking her body and the sound wrenches something in his heart.

"Regina!" The concerned voice of Snow sounds in his ear and he quickly smacks away the outstretched hand that is reaching toward the queen's shoulders.

"I think you've done enough for this evening," he snarls while fixing the princess with a firm glare. "It's your fault this happened. If you had just let her rest instead of constantly pushing her to fix everything for you at her own expense she would have been stronger when she cast this spell."

"Robin, please, she can't breathe. The lacing on her corset is too tight; just let me loosen it for her."

He notices then how her lungs are shuddering beneath the arm he still has wrapped around her waist, the way her lungs contract desperately against the harsh boning and tight laces bound around her. Without a second thought he gently lowers her to her knees on the courtyard and yanks the buck knife from his waist, slashing through the laces at the bottom of her corset, careful not to cut too high and compromise her decency. Immediately her lungs suck in a greedy breath of air and her desperate wheezing calms to a light pant. When he is certain her breathing has quieted and her stomach has finally settled he pulls his cloak off his shoulders and wraps her tightly in the soft green fabric before swooping her up in his arms, one arm notched beneath her knees while the other wrests along her back drawing her upper body to his chest.

Without another word, he turns and carries his queen into the palace with no intention of letting her go until he has looked after her wounds personally. If anyone left in the courtyard notices the way she snuggles her face into the crook of his neck and draws in the comforting smell of forest and sweat that is uniquely Robin while tightly clutching the neck of his shirt in her hand, they know better than to mention it.


	4. Chapter 4

**_This is just a little post-finale reaction piece in preparation for the upcoming season premiere. Thank you all again for the reviews, follows, and prompts both here and on tumblr (I'm Em-Temple on tumblr if any of you want to send prompts there). I am currently in the process of moving so updates may be less frequent, but I will try and post as often as I can. Comments, criticism, and prompts are welcome as always. Xx_**

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The silence that overtakes the diner is deafening. No one is quite sure where to look or what do to in the wake of the life changing events that have just taken place. Emma is still standing in the middle of the diner staring into the receding purple vapor that mere seconds ago was Regina. The clatter of forks and knives against plates filled with burgers, fries, lasagna and assorted other fattening foods has stagnated into a stale awkwardness that is creeping into the air, practically suffocating the patrons who moments ago were toasting and laughing in celebration. Every eye in the room flickers between the abject horror printed across the savior's face and the newly reunited family huddled against the booth mere steps away from her. The word '_monster_' lingers in the air like a poisonous echo that cannot be erased nor refuted.

"What have you done?" The question sounds from the back booth in the broken, voice-changing cadence of a teenager. She isn't sure when he came back in the room, or how much he saw, but the heartbroken look on Henry's face tells her that he's seen enough.

"I just tried to do the right thing. I couldn't leave her there to die…" the savior brokenly replies, shock and guilt still clearly written across her countenance.

"Where has she gone? Where is my mom?" The panic in his voice clearly showing in the way he squeaks on the end of the sentence and desperately looks around the room, finally resting his eyes on Robin Hood who still stands holding his child and recently resurrected wife. The betrayal and hurt shining through his eyes is clearly apparent, and for a split second she can see an echo of Regina in that stare. He may not be her blood, but he is certainly her child, especially with the way his eyes turn from broken and panicked to cold an accusatory in a split second.

"She trusted you!" He practically growls, and it's unclear whether he is directing it at his other mother or the archer a few feet away. "She's a hero now, she deserves better than this, from all of you!" He's shouting now and irrational with tears glittering in his eyes. That's what finally breaks it for her. Turning quickly from her place at the bar she grabs her coat and gloves off of the rack in the back and circles in front of the counter towards the door.

"We're closing early. Everyone finish your drinks and clear out, I expect this place to be empty when I get back. Red, I trust you can clean and lock up on your own?" She glances over to see her granddaughter nod at her before she pushes out the front door and heads down the sidewalk into the cold autumn night, away from the chaos and confusion inside.

…

She knows exactly where she will find the queen so she doesn't bother using her wolf senses to try and track her. The sidewalks are familiar and the night sky is oddly clear so she allows her mind to wander as she traces her way down alleys and across side streets to her destination. In her mind's eye she conjures the image of Regina as she crossed into the diner that evening and the way she practically sparkled with happiness. There was an ease and a comfort to her movements as she settled into a corner booth, greeting people from the town, smiling and chatting with an effortlessness Granny had never seen from her before. She remembers the way they had nodded to each other from across the room. No words had been necessary to convey the depth of their feelings; all they needed to communicate was present in the warmth of their eyes and the understanding of a simple gesture. It's odd to think how quickly that moment had been shattered.

She finds her exactly as she expected to, with one arm braced against the rough bark of her beloved apple tree, shoulders shaking with sobs. Her coat and scarf lay crumpled at her feet along with her five inch heels. She has never seen her look smaller or more fragile than she does in this moment of superficial solitude. Granny takes a few silent moments to observe the woman in front of her before she steps into the clearing, purposely snapping a twig on the ground to alert the queen to her presence.

Regina turns sharply at the sudden sound, eyes wide and surprised, with one arm protectively curved around the middle of her body. When she focuses and sees who has encroached upon her privacy her eyes soften and the tears start anew, steadily leaking down her face. The arm defensively wrapped around her middle drops to her side like a heavy weight and her shoulders sag in resignation, every ounce of light and happiness from earlier in the evening is completely absent, the glow from before replaced with an empty brokenness mimicked by the moonlit shadows in the garden.

Without a second thought she crosses the grass and folds the younger woman into her arms, holding her steady as her body is wracked with sobs. One of her hands comes up and gently coasts through her hair as she tucks the queen's head into the crook of her neck. She rests her cheek against the ebony softness there and she can't help but notice the faint scent of forest that clings to the queen's skin and the stickiness of chocolate ice cream that stains her right hand where it held Roland's earlier. Internally she despairs for the woman in her arms because she knows these subtle remnants of happiness and love will never mark the queen's immaculate skin again. Her heart breaks for this woman that has somehow found a place in her heart, and she allows her own tears to mingle with the queen's as they silently grieve together beneath the protective branches of their apple tree.


	5. Nightmares

_I've combined a couple of prompts in this chapter with a few slight changes, I hope ya'll don't mind.  
butterflykisses0 kindly sent "Regina has a nightmare and she seeks out Robin" and mysterious-song asked for something to make her smile so hard her face hurts, I'm not sure if this qualifies my dear, but it's decidedly fluffier than the last chapter… _

She is always cold. It's one of the first things he noticed about her, even before they fully started their relationship. She lives life in a series of layers; no matter how mild the weather may be outside she always seems to be encased in a protective coating of additional, unnecessary fabric; petticoats, heavy capes and lined velvet coats in the Enchanted Forest and delicate scarves, tailored jackets, and leather gloves that cling like a second skin in Storybrooke. The constant barrier of fabric was a source of perpetual frustration at the beginning of their courtship when he wanted nothing more than an opportunity to feel the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips at every possible moment.

Over time, however, he has come to appreciate the persistent chill his queen endures. While his hand still itches to touch bare skin when they stroll along together down the streets or to sneak his fingertips along a gap of fabric between the waist of her trousers and the soft silk of her blouse (desires all irritatingly blocked by textile obstacles), he knows that as soon as they are behind closed doors in the privacy of their home the layers will be cast aside, trading the additional warmth of cashmere, wool, and leather for snuggly blankets, fireplaces, and body heat. It's those private moments he has come to treasure the most in their relationship, when she sheds every protective layer and melts into his heat, cocooning herself further into his embrace as every inch of icy skin dissolves into the comfortable warmth and security of his arms. He has grown accustomed to falling asleep wrapped around her, limbs tangled beneath heavy down blankets and heads resting on the same pillow, breathing in the lavender scent of her hair and the heady cinnamon vanilla aroma of her skin before finally drifting off to sleep. So accustomed, in fact, that when he wakes in the middle of the night and reaches his arms out to pull her closer and he grasps nothing but the cooling Egyptian cotton of her sheets he immediately knows something is wrong.

Quickly sliding out of bed he tugs on a pair of cotton pajama pants and pads down the hallway in search of his love. Nightmares are a common occurrence for the both of them, but no matter how many times he's encouraged her to wake him when she is startled from slumber by her less than pleasant dreams she prefers to let him sleep and sort things out on her own. He can't count the number of times he's awoken alone in the dark only to find her downstairs absently stirring a pot of hot chocolate on the stove, staring into the emptiness of the kitchen back-splash as she tries to will her troubled mind back into the numbness of sleep.

That is where he expects to find her now, but just as he turns to head into the quiet blackness downstairs he notices a sliver of moonlight on the carpet from around the slightly ajar door of Henry's room. Creeping down the hallway, careful to avoid creaking floor boards, he silently pushes the door open enough to peek his head inside the room. It only takes him a moment to spot her across the room, curled up in the windowsill basked in the silvery glow of the moon. Her cheek is pressed to the top of her bent knees and she stares intently at the two boys haphazardly draped across each other snoring softly in the bed opposite her, with a look so full of love and wonder written in her eyes that it takes his breath away.

Finally, she looks up from her moonlit vigil and notices him in the doorway. Raising a finger to her lips signaling for him to remain silent where he is, she soundlessly leaves her spot in the window and pads across the room careful not to wake their slumbering children. Sliding her fingers into his she takes one last look at their boys before tugging him into the hallway with her and gingerly closing the door.

Without hesitation he folds her into his arms, protectively tucking his chin on the top of her head the moment the door is closed. He rubs his arms soothingly up and down her back and revels in the way the tension in her shoulders evaporates under his touch and the cold tingle of her fingertips slowly warms against the skin of his back as she sinks further into his embrace, practically molding her body into his. When he feels her release a sigh against his neck he pulls back slightly so he can tip her chin up and look into her eyes.

"Another nightmare?" he whispers into the silence of the hallway, gently running his thumb along the apple of her cheek.

"Um hmm," she nods, leaning into his hand, "but nothing worth waking you over."

"Milady, you should never be concerned with waking me. There is nothing I would love more than to hold you and remind you that you are safe, that's what I'm here for my love." Her eyes suddenly fill with moisture and she tries to turn her eyes away to hide it from him, but he lightly tucks his hand into the loose hair at the base of her neck, tangling his fingers into her ebony locks before tilting her head up to look at him.

"I love you Regina, in sickness and in health, through laughter and tears, late nights and early mornings, past mistakes, present worries, future dreams, nightmares, cold feet and all. I love everything about you, who you are and who we are together." Tears are lightly spilling out the corners of her eyes now and he catches each one with a tender swipe of his thumb before he leans down and presses a reassuring kiss to her lips.

When they break apart she leans her forehead against his and murmurs, "I love you too," against his lips before catching his lips in another quick kiss that breaks with a smile.

"Do you feel like you will be able to sleep again now?" He asks, as she nods, delicately covering a yawn with her hand. Chuckling at the adorable gesture he leans down and scoops her into his arms and carries her down the hallway toward their bedroom. She immediately curls into his chest, draping an arm around his shoulder and tucking her head into the crook of his neck, warm breath ghosting across his skin and he tightens his arms around her small frame to bring her closer. With a contented sigh he lays her in the bed before climbing in and tucking himself behind her enjoying the way she automatically snuggles into his chest and drifts off to sleep surrounded by his warmth.


	6. Visitations

The staccato clacking of her heels echoes down the hallway, announcing her presence long before she is seen. Regina has never been a morning person, preferring to break her fast in the privacy of her bedchambers away from prying eyes, whispered rumors and forced pleasantries, so Snow is surprised when she requests a brief audience before the sun has properly risen above the castle walls. She enters the room, polished to perfection in all her regal glory and Snow suddenly feels very frumpy in her white lace nightgown and cream silk robe, hair still tousled from sleep. She pulls herself a little straighter in her chair, attempting to match the posture of the woman in front of her as David rises to offer her a seat, which is politely declined with the flick of a wrist and a slight nod.

"You asked to see us Regina?" she finally ventures when the silence in the room begins to feel oppressive.

"Yes. I just wanted to inform you that I will be riding north for a few days on a scouting mission. I will return before nightfall on Friday, but if you need me before then my mirror can reach me or you can send one of those silly birds you seem to be so fond of," the cool indifference of her voice makes it clear this is an announcement, not a request, but something unclear flickers behind her eyes.

There is something slightly off about her that Snow can't quite put her finger on. She is flawlessly presented, as always, in a royal blue velvet coat that is fitted in the waist and the bust, practically suctioned on to the jeweled black corset that peeks out from the deep V of the jacket collar, before flowing to the ground in a long train that practically puddles around her feet. A pair of black leather riding pants and heeled boots completes the intimidating ensemble, every inch of restrictive fabric and supportive lacing oozing the confident ruthlessness of the Evil Queen she used to be. The straight-backed stance and no-nonsense manner she presents her plans in, however, is all Madame Mayor and Snow suddenly feels a twinge of Mary Margaret rising to the surface of her consciousness. The unsettled feeling she had a moment ago returns and she truly examines the woman who raised her, trying desperately to put her finger on what it is that is not quite right, and then she sees it.

It's her hair.

The thick mane of dark curls that is usually sculpted into an elaborate updo of some sort is pulled simply in two concentric twists that begin at her temples and join in the back to form a single, thick braid that hangs like an ebony rope down her back. Her usual smoky shadow, and bold lips have been traded for a light smattering of liner and a pale glossy pink that gives her face a natural glow and suddenly Snow is once again a child on a hillside breathing in the smell of grass and gratefully clinging to a beautiful woman in a powder blue riding coat who just saved her life. All three personalities of the woman she has admired and adored, feared and hated, befriended and forgiven are all standing in front of her so clearly demonstrated that it all suddenly clicks into place and she instantly knows exactly where Regina is going.

David starts to rise from his seat, a protest ready on his lips, but Snow stills him with a gentle hand to his wrist. He glances over, confusion furrowing his brow, they both know that things with Zelena are still too unsettled for Regina to go gallivanting across the countryside for a few days, but this trip is necessary. He must see the conviction in her eyes because he settles back into his seat, the tension slowly seeping out of his face as he relaxes back into his chair.

"Of course, Regina. Please let us know if there is anything we can do to assist with your journey," she offers, with what she hopes is a reassuring smile.

"Thank you, but everything I need has been arranged. Try not to let the kingdom fall apart in my absence," she quips back with a raise of her eyebrow and a smirk that doesn't quite reach her eyes before turning on her heel and quickly stalking out of the room.

"Now are you going to tell me what that was about, or do I have to guess?" her husband inquires as soon as the sound of the queens clacking footsteps has faded down the hallway.

"This is something she needs to do on her own, don't worry," she reassures while reaching her hand over and gently squeezing his fingers, trying to convince herself as well.

* * *

_This is just a little drabble from the missing year because _dakota1979 _requested more of those . I am planning to possibly make the previous chapter into a separate multi-chapter fic that I will post under a different title hopefully in the next few weeks when I have another chapter. It may be a while before the next update-I've broken a finger and ripped a ligament in my right hand so writing is a bit painful at the moment!_

_As always questions, comments, criticism, and prompts are welcomed. Thank you all so much for the lovely comments and messages you've sent, they really do bring a smile to my face and motivate me to write more! Xx_


	7. Author's Note

Hello all,

I'm very sorry to say, but it's going to be a bit longer before I'm able to update London Fog or Comfort due to family issues. My father was hit by a train at work yesterday in the US (he's mostly ok, thank goodness) but I may have to go home for a bit while he recovers and there is no internet where my parents live. I will try my best to get something out soon.

Thank you all for reading and sending your comments and encouragement, it really means a lot to me. Again, I'm very sorry about the delay.


	8. drabble

The first few times he says it to her the words are laced with anguish and shame, forced from his lips like some kind of sin he is begging her to absolve him of with pleading eyes and furrowed brow. Words that precious should never carry so much weight, so much pain, so much inescapable guilt and yet the impossibility of their situation crowds around them and suffocates whatever joy and light those words would usually bring leaving only the stabbing, hollow, sting behind. It is this sting that leaves her gasping for breath and looking away every time he utters the words her heart so desperately longs to hear, but her mind shrieks that she has no right to. It is the weight of her own regret that has those same words lodging in her throat and choking her into silence while her very soul screams them back to him.

The first time she says the words to him she is almost certain she will burst if she has to hold them inside of her any longer. She is covered in grime from her battle with the Snow Queen, blood and mud caked on her trousers and streaked across her face, but she couldn't care less. All she sees is the beautiful thief in front of her, finally free of his bond to his wife and smiling at her like she is the sun itself and the words burst forth from her before she can stop them.

"I love you. I. Love. You."

Before she can say it again he closes the distance between them with two quick steps and pulls her into his arms, molding his mouth over hers. His left hand tangles in her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss while his other arm wraps around her waist, lifting her slightly off the ground so that her body is flush with his. It is like this, with his arms still firmly wrapped around her and her feet slightly off the ground, their limbs tangled and chests pressed together that he breaks the kiss and grins back at her, his blue eyes swimming with affection and relief.

"I love you too, milady. I love you too."


	9. Gift (missing year)

_This is from a prompt I received for on tumblr for a fic set in the missing year involving a gift. Hope you all enjoy, as always comments and criticism are welcome! Xx_

* * *

He doesn't like to let people know, but he has a bit of a gift for drawing. He loves the therapeutic process of taking graphite and charcoal and transforming a blank piece of white parchment into something beautiful. He loves the power it gives him to capture things, trapping them in grayscale depictions that can be carried around and cherished long after the moment they represent has passed. It's something private and cathartic, one of the few things in his life he has that is truly his own because after all, what would it do for his reputation as a fearsome outlaw if people knew he spent his free time doodling?

He has never felt the urge to share his secret talent with anyone until the evening she tells him about her son. They have been meeting in her courtyard every night for nearly three months before she finally mentions Henry freely. It's a small thing, just a passing comment about how Henry would have loved the story he had just told her about one of Little John's less than graceful escapes on one of their jobs. He'll never forget the way her eyes sparkled, still glittering from the full bellied laugh his story had just pulled from her, or the way her voice softened when she said his name, wrapping around the syllables in a tender caress the way only a mother's can. That one comment transformed her whole face and for a moment, every ounce of the Evil Queen bled away and he was simply with Regina, the woman and the mother, and oh how he longed to keep that woman with him.

Desperate to keep her from slipping back behind the façade of the queen and stay with him just a little longer, free and open, he tilted his head to the side and asked her simply, "Tell me about him? Tell me about Henry," and he held his breath in anticipation, expecting her to leave and daring to hope that she would answer him.

* * *

Surprisingly, her lips turned up in a slight smile, she cast her face up to stare at the moon hanging over them, and she began to speak. He listened with rapt attention as she described a clever boy with a sweet round face and coffee colored eyes that always reminded her more of her own than his birth mother's shocking blue. He absorbed every detail she offered, every anecdote of their lives together, the good and the bad, until his fingers were itching for paper, desperate to try and capture the image she painted for him in solid lines and delicate shadow. He watched her as she watched the moon and he marveled at the way her eyes filled with joy simply from the thought of her beloved son, but then clouded over in sorrow so acute he had to fight the urge to reach out and pull her into his arms.

They sat together for hours under her apple tree, sharing stories of their boys until the sky began to lighten and their eyes were heavy from lack of sleep. Somehow he knew this was a conversation that belonged in the quiet of the night, with darkness pressing around them from all sides and a warm blanket of silence and stars overhead. As much as it pained him, he knew it was time for them to call an end to the evening and try to catch the few remaining hours of sleep they could before the sun fully rose in the sky. They stood together in the approaching dawn and let the silence wash over them until she reached over and tangled their fingers together, and turned to face him.

"Thank you for listening," she stated simply, rich brown eyes shining up at him full of warmth and gratitude.

"The pleasure was all mine Milady. Thank you for telling me about him," he replied, letting his free hand come up and cradle the base of her neck, fingers tangling in her dark hair. "Allow me to escort you to your room?" he questioned as his thumb drew circles on the base of her neck causing her to close her eyes and sigh in pleasure.

"Not tonight, you should get back to Roland before he wakes wondering where you are. I'll see you both later today." Before he could protest further she closed the gap between them, sealing their lips in a tender kiss. It was just a gentle press of her lips against his, a physical representation of her gratitude and the comfort his presence brought her. She pulled away and gave him a sleepy smile, running her thumb along the stubble on his cheek, reaching up to give him one last peck on the lips before turning and walking back to her chambers.

* * *

It takes him an entire week after that evening before he's willing to show her what he's made. He's spent every spare moment he has trying to recall her descriptions and put them to paper with as much accuracy as he can muster, but he's still nervous as he carries the simple piece of parchment with him to meet her at their usual time.

She arrives as she always does with the gentle clacking of heels on stone and the light swish of fabric. She stands to the side waiting for him to join her for their usual stroll around the courtyard, but when he fails to stand and accompany her she furrows her brow and tilts her head to the side in confusion.

"Robin? Is something wrong?" she questions, moving towards where he is still seated on the bench below the apple tree.

"No, just come and sit her for a moment. I have something I'd like to show you before we take our walk," he pats the seat next to him and tries not to fidget as she closes the remaining distance and sits beside him, her face still creased with concern and confusion.

"I made this for you after our talk the other night. It may not be exactly right, but it was the best I could do given the circumstances," he says handing her the piece of folded parchment and drawing his bottom lip up with his teeth in a nervous smile.

Her eyebrow quirks and she shoots him a look as she takes the parchment from his fingers and slowly unfolds it. The moment her eyes fall on the drawing she gasps, her free hand coming up to cover her gaping mouth as her eyes well with tears.

"But this is…how could you? You've never even met…"she struggles to get the words out around the knot developing in her throat and the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

"I did the best I could based on your descriptions. If there's anything that's not quite right let me know and I'll try to fix it," he begins, but he's cut off by the desperate press of her mouth against his. He responds immediately, swiping his tongue along the seam of her lips and tasting a trace of salt. Knowing some of her tears must have escaped, he brings his hand up and rubs his thump along her cheek, swiping the moisture away as she pulls back.

"It's perfect. Thank you." She punctuates her statement with another quick kiss before looking back to the drawing of her son, delicately running her fingers along the curve of his nose and the roundness of his cheeks as if trying to memorize what he looks like all over again through her fingertips.

He never intended to share his secret with anyone, but the look on her face as she drinks in the simple sketch of her boy, her precious Henry, is worth whatever damage his reputation may suffer. He never thought he would be willing to give up such a private part of his life, but as he stares at her, overcome with emotion from such a simple gift, he finds that he wants to share every secret he has with her.


	10. Reunion

_I received two prompts on tumblr, one for an OQ reunion kiss and one for a dimples queen reunion kiss, so I've combined them into the story below. As always, comments and criticism are welcome. XX_

**Reunion **

Their relationship has never lacked passion. Their kisses are often fueled by a desperate need to be as close as possible, to convey every ounce of frustration, longing, desperation, and regret that words can't quite express. This kiss, however, is different.

His hands are cradling her face, fingers tangled in her hair, as they always seem to be, while her palms are pressed against his chest. There is still an insatiable need to the press of their lips, but the bruising force usually accompanied with it is gone. Instead it's all softness and wonder, an easy exchange meant to comfort instead of demand. Unlike their other embraces there is no undercurrent of finality to this kiss, there is no external force waiting to rip them apart the moment their lips separate and they come up for air. No, this is a kiss of welcome, a deep, soulful, exhale of relief. This is everything sliding back into place, fingers clutching, breath mingling, mouths molded together like they were always meant to be. This is coming home.

She is surrounded by the comforting smell of pine, wood smoke and something that is uniquely _Robin_. The scruff of his beard scrapes across her chin and the calloused pads of his fingers drag across her skin making a shiver run up her spine and she _hmms _in pleasure, tilting her head to change the angle of the kiss. She would be perfectly content to stay wrapped in this moment with him savoring every sensation, every drag of his lips against hers, every caress of his hands, the way his body presses against hers until there is absolutely no space between them until she is finally able to convince herself that this is real, but there is a distracting _tug_, _tug_, _tug_, on the bottom of her jacket that just won't go away.

Another particularly sharp tug to her jacket hem and the simple "Regina," muttered from below forces her to pull away from the intoxicating presence of her newly returned thief. She feels Robin's groan in protest against her lips more than she hears it and she chuckles warmly in response before glancing down to find the source of the distracting tugging staring up at her, lip drawn between his teeth, and dimples on full display.

"Regina, don't I get a welcome home kiss too?" he questions, big doe eyes shining up at her and arms outstretched waiting for her to lift him into her embrace.

"Of course! I will always have a welcome home kiss for my little knight," she immediately replies, bending down to sweep Roland into her arms and pepper his face with kisses until he is giggling and squirming in her embrace.

She finds herself laughing along with him, reveling in the high pitched squeal of delight coming from the boy in her arms that she never thought she would see again. She pulls back and gives him a final peck on the nose, still grinning from ear to ear when she catches Robin's eye over the top of Roland's head. His eyes are glassy with tears, his gaze weighed with so much love and warmth that it takes her breath away.

Roland breaks the moment, stealing her attention yet again by grasping her cheeks with his tiny hands and turning her face to look back at him. He presses a sloppy kiss to her cheek then throws his arms around her neck, whispering in her ear, "I missed you," before snuggling his face into the curve where her neck meets her shoulder.

She closes her eyes and kisses the top of his head, breathing in the little boy smell of his hair, tears gathering in her eyes and sticking to her lashes.

"I missed you too my little knight. I missed you both so much," she chokes out around the lump forming in her throat as Robin pulls her securely into his side, arm wrapped firmly around her waist. He leans down and seals his mouth over hers, and she tastes the salt of his tears as they mingle with her own.

She never expected to be here, wrapped in the arms of the man she loves, cradling his child in her arms with tears running down her face and so much love and joy filling her heart she's afraid she might burst. Of all the exchanges they've had, the fights and the banter, the passion and desperation, the sorrow and the heartbreak, this is the one she treasures, the one where he returns to her; the salty taste of his tears on her lips, his arms and he scent wrapped around her like a comforting balm. This is her happy ending.


	11. Blossoms

She finds them on her pillow when she wakes, two perfect blossoms wrapped lightly around each other, their stems intertwined like lovers in an embrace. One a perfect blood red rose, clearly from the palace conservatory given the straightness of the stem and uniform perfection of its petals; the other a shocking cluster of white lace blossoms, stars of the dark forest. She lifts the flowers, careful not to damage the delicate twist and curve of their stems, and examines them with eyes still drooping and heavy from sleep.

They are in perfect balance, wrapped around each other in an embrace of contrast. One is bold and striking; beautiful, crimson petals emitting a delicately intoxicating fragrance that lures you in, masking the threatening darkness of thorns that will prick the skin and draw blood the moment you drop your guard. The other is wild and unruly; a smattering of white blooms with moss green leaves that fan out and surround the rose as if embracing it from all sides, softening the harshness and protecting against the thorns. One formed in captivity, stoic and straight, perfumed and polished, the other rustic and simple, clean and fresh like sunshine and open air, not unlike herself and the thief.

A sleepy smile spreads slowly across her face as she twirls the flowers between her fingers, watching as they twist and curl like partners in an elaborate dance. She brings the pair to her nose and inhales the mixture of scents, closing her eyes to savor the way they blend, the harmony and the difference. Releasing her breath on a soft sigh she rests the petals against her lips, imaging their perfumed softness to be the press of a kiss, lingering and sweet.

"I see you found my gift M'lady," she hears a familiar voice from across the room, still rough from sleep but beginning to warm around the edges.

"Hmm, that I did," she purrs in response, lifting the blossoms from her lips and watching through hooded eyes as he approaches the bed. "Quite a unique way of arranging flowers, who knew an outlaw had such a delicate touch?"

"Why don't you set those aside where they won't be crushed and I can show just how 'delicate' of a touch I have?" he questions with a quirk or his eyebrow, throwing her that lopsided grin that always makes her insides melt.

Carefully placing the fragile flowers on her bedside table, she gives them one last lingering glance before turning back and wrapping herself around the carefree, forest scented thief she's come to love, content to spend the morning locked in an embrace of their own.


	12. Her Voice

_So 'Lily' was upsetting for many of us and I wrote this little piece in response, from Emma's POV after the fact. _

* * *

It's her voice that haunts me.

The desperation as she called for him, hitching on the end, going up in pitch with every frantic fist against the door. How it melted in relief when it swung open and she said his name. The way she whispered she missed him, lips against his ear, arms wrapped around him to pull him as close as possible, as if holding on a little bit harder than normal would erase all the distance time had put between them. The softness of that admission against his skin, the warmth and the love that floated through the syllables, something sacred, a secret piece of herself that belonged only to her soul mate; it was saved, cherished and guarded, but finally able to break free again in his presence, once it was safe, once _she _was safe.

But then suddenly it changed. The gratitude and elation splintered into fear and confusion, every joyous part of their reunion souring in the stale air of the apartment as the truth was revealed. The absolute panic and despair as she begged him to leave, to go with her, and the anguish when he refused.

It's her voice that haunts me.

The vulnerability she was willing to show that she is never willing to let anyone see, the way she wore her love for him on her sleeve, and the way it all broke in the span of a few earth shattering minutes. The cracks and fissures in the usual velvet of her tone that revealed her devastation, despite her attempts to maintain control are what sit with me, what break me the most.

She is a strong woman. Yes she has made mistakes, horrific, terrible mistakes, but she has clawed her way back to the light. She has fought to reclaim the woman she was always meant to be with every breath she has taken, every beat of her every brightening heart. This was supposed to be her happy ending. This was supposed to be a moment of triumph, or homecoming, this was supposed to be tearful laughs and relieved sighs not choked back sobs and oppressive silence.

What kind of Savior does it make me if I can't even save the woman who saved me?

It is her voice that haunts me. The echoes of it high and desperate, relieved and affectionate, shattered and betrayed; the rollercoaster of hope that was crushed into pain within the span of minutes.

It is her voice that haunts me; that will continue to haunt me until I can hear it again when it's not laced with pain.


	13. Choices

_This is just a refection on what I think may have been going through Regina's mind in the scene with the potion in 4x20 'Mother.' Hope you enjoy. Xx_

* * *

She had to.

She had no choice. She had to do this to protect herself and her children; the children she could have had. The children she will never have.

It's funny, but it had seemed like such a harmless liquid. It wasn't like normal potions that smoke and smolder, deep acrid smelling draughts that bubble and curdle, thick and dark and menacing. Instead it was an innocent shade of pink, pretty almost in a certain light, and it smelled sweetly of strawberries and something soft and floral. There was a harmlessness to it, as if there was no way something as light and pale and nonthreatening in appearance could have such lasting permanent effect.

But appearances can be deceiving.

There was a moment, one pure blissful moment, after swallowing that she felt powerful; protected and right and _safe_. She had finally been strong enough. She stood up to her mother, she protected herself, she fought back and did what she didn't have the courage to do years ago when she desperately wishes she had. In that one precious instance she finally felt strong; but then the pain began.

Sharp and instant like something was carving her out from the inside. A searing fire the blazed through her gripping and shriveling all at once like she was being torn at the seems, causing a moan to pass through her lips unbidden as she crumpled to her knees against the agony. But even then she still had the knowledge that she had won, that finally she had taken something from her mother that could never be returned. If she had finally been able to inflict an iota of misery upon her mother, a fraction of the damage the wretched woman had bestowed upon her then it was all worth it, or so she thought.

It wasn't until afterwards, when her mother had left and she was alone in the silence, the pain mellowed to a dull throbbing ache, that the weight of what she had done finally began to sink in. The hollowness within her, the panged emptiness growing and spreading like ice through her veins, numbing and fracturing the victory she had tasted turning it to ash on her tongue.

It was then that she realized how truly alone she was. How alone she would always be.


	14. Dreams

She dreams.

It's a strange sensation, dreaming, to see yourself in your mind's eye, but to still _feel _a semblance of what is happening, even in a diluted way. That's what this is; it's as if even her subconscious can't allow her just a few moments of unfettered happiness, false though they may be.

She feels the scratch of his stubble against her skin. The pricking tickle as it brushes across her lips, trading lazily back and forth with her own as if they have all the time in the world. She soaks it in. Memorizes every pinpoint of contact, every ridge and contour of his face, every press and give of his lips against hers, the taste of him on her tongue, warm and heady and slick. The beat of his pulse below her fingers, the softness of the hair at the base of his neck, the way his groan rumbles and vibrates through his mouth and into her own, buzzing and tingly and _hers_.

She savors it, slows the kiss, languid and passionate, eking out every tantalizing second because she knows soon she will wake. Soon her eyes will open and she will no longer see them together; this moment, even in its diluted form, will be over and she will never have it again. This intimacy, this contact, is something that no longer belongs to her. She no longer has the right to it, but in her dreams he is still hers and she is his.

She breathes deeply, pulls in the air around her that is mingled with his own, turning her head to change the angle of the kiss, to deepen it and press herself as close to him as she can, and she prays that she won't be forced to wake anytime soon.


	15. Of Whiskey and Missing Pieces

He finds her beneath her apple tree, the moonlight filtering through the clouds casting a shimmering glow across her skin. She seems guarded, her hair swept high and tight, secured with a single sharp pin through the back; she's wrapped in a fitted black gown, all leather and corsetry as if she is prepared for battle yet wrapped in mourning all at once. For a moment he just stands there, unsure of whether or not he should intrude upon her solitude despite the worry that has been simmering underneath his skin all day; Snow's desperate request that he find her and make she is alright reverberating in the back of his mind.

"For a thief you're terrible at sneaking up on people." Her voice fills the courtyard, worn, gravely and rough around the edges as if she's been crying.

"I wasn't trying to sneak up on you M'lady, I simply wanted to make sure you were well. Roland missed you at the evening meal," he answers carefully, unsure of how she will respond.

"Only Roland?" she purrs, turning to face him, one eyebrow quirked and a sly grin spreading across her face.

"I believe you already know the answer to that," he challenges, watching as she takes a slow sip from a glass he hadn't seen she was holding on his approach. "The princess was worried, but she said you wouldn't want to see her tonight."

"She would be correct," she bites back before sighing and turning her weary gaze to the liquid swirling in her glass. "We've come a long way, but even Princess Snowflake knows to stay the hell away from me on this day unless she wants to be on the business end of a fireball."

He's heard rumors about the reasons behind the blood feud between the queen and her former step-daughter, but he never knew what to believe. There's clearly a story there, but it's hers to tell, in her own time; he won't push her.

"I'm sure you have your reasons," he replies noticing the way her eyes widen slightly in surprise. "Do I need to be worried about various body parts suddenly catching fire?"

"Why don't you come over here and find out?" she questions, a spark of flame igniting in her hands, casting an eerie glow across her face. He stares back at her, unafraid of the flickering orb dancing within her palm. When he doesn't take the bait, she douses the flame, shrugging her shoulders and wobbling a little with the movement, her balance thrown off by the alcohol coursing through her veins. "Don't worry thief, your forest-scented hide is safe for now."

"Why,Your Majesty, was that an invitation to stay?" he sasses right back, chuckling as her eyes narrow into a piercing glare. He throws her his best dimpled smile, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth in a way he knows she has a particular weakness for. Sure enough, her gaze flickers down to his lips and lingers there for a moment before she rolls her eyes and turns away from him.

"Fine, but if you stay you're drinking." She sighs, not bothering to look at him as she speaks. She twirls her hand carelessly to the right and a swirl of purple smoke erupts from her fingers; when it clears a glass appears on the bench beside her, half filled with an amber liquid.

"What is this?" he asks.

"It's called whiskey. And that's crystal, a much more civilized drinking vessel than the clunky goblets and shoddy glass we have here, but it's fragile. Don't manhandle it, thief."

He settles beside her and lifts the glass to his lips. It's smoky and sharp, tastes of campfires and rich tobacco with a smooth caramel finish. It burns pleasantly as he swallows, filling his chest with warmth as it goes down. He wonders if her lips are tainted with the taste of it, if he leaned over would he be able to smell it lingering on her breath before sealing his mouth to hers and sampling the flavor mingled with her own? He shakes his head, trying to clear the tempting image from his mind; he's here to check on her, to provide comfort, not to take advantage of her misery like some lech.

They sit in silence for a moment, nursing their drinks and savoring the silence until the air grows heavy, thick with unanswered questions.

"Why are you here?" she finally asks, her brow knit in confusion.

"Whether you believe it or not Regina, I care about you. I want to understand, to help if I'm able to."

"You really want to make me feel better?" she asks, swiveling her head in his direction as she places her glass on the bench behind her. She reaches over and plucks his from his fingers, placing a hand high on his thigh as she leans across him to deposit his on the opposite side of the bench behind him. Her hand stays as she leans back to look him in the eyes. "Kiss me. Make me feel something besides this." Her eyes are open and vulnerable, clouded with lust, but an acute ache lingers in their warm brown depths.

"Milady, as much as I'd love to do that," he swallows thickly as she leans in and presses a kiss to his neck, the hand on his thigh inching upwards, "I won't take advantage of your pain. And I will not be a one night fling," grasping her shoulders, he pushes her away, until he can meet her eyes. "I think we both know there is more to this, whatever this is. I won't ruin what we could be for one night."

"Fuck you and your damned chivalry," she growls grabbing the lapels of his jacket and hauling his mouth against hers. It's sloppy, hurried and rough, their lips at the wrong angle as she presses her body as close to his as she can with her arms trapped between them. He doesn't have time to get over the shock and kiss her back before she pulls away, their lips separating with a wet pop.

"Regina, I…" he starts, but he's quickly cut off.

"Robin, please," she implores, eyes swimming with pain.

"Not like this." He peels away her fingers clutched around his jacket, running soothing passes of his thumb across her knuckles as tears gather in her eyes and spill over, carving wet trails across her cheeks. Leaning over, he rests his forehead against hers, trying to pour every ounce of comfort he can into the simple gesture, and savoring the contact as her breath washes against his skin.

With gentle hands he reaches around and removes the pin from her hair, enthralled as it tumbles in loose ebony waves down her back. He won't be an escape, he refuses to be nothing but a warm body and a temporary distraction, but this he will do; he will run his fingers through her hair, pull her into his arms, and simply hold her. He will collect each of the missing pieces she chooses to share with him and cherish them as the gift they are until she is ready to be whole again.


	16. New York State of Mind

He's not sure how long he's been sitting there, absently pulling one leaf after another from the branches above his head, methodically shredding them vein by vein until he has a tiny green graveyard scattered along the ground by his feet. He can feel his mom watching him from the window, the weight of her gaze pressing along his spine, but he can't bare to look up at her, to see the concern and worry etched across her face. They'll need to talk eventually, but he needs to figure some things out on his own first.

"I thought you might want to have this." He jumps at the voice, he didn't hear anyone leave the house; glancing up he sees Robin walking towards him, a small cardboard moving box clutched in his hands. "It was your father's…what was left of his in the apartment in New York. I offered it to Gold when we were there, but he wasn't interested. Now that I'm ho…" His voice halts, stutters over the word 'home' and Henry wonders for a moment why he can't bring himself to say it, why after months of being here, weeks spent reacquainting himself with the world he thought he'd left behind, he still can't utter the words.

"Thank you. I appreciate it," he answers with a smile, trying to break the tension that is suddenly filling the air.

"Well, I'll leave you to it then," he says clearing his throat and placing the box on the ground by his feet before turning to leave.

"Robin?"

"Hmm?"

"What was it like? New York. I mean, what did you think of it?" He fumbles over his words, trying to get across what he really wants to ask, _'Are you okay? What happened? How did everything get so messed up?' _

"It was loud," he offers, with a grimace that pulls a laugh out of both of them.

"Yeah, it is. You get used to it though. It becomes comforting in a way, the constant background noise. There's this hum of life that reminds you that you aren't alone."

"Indeed it does. May I?" He gestures to the empty space on the bench beside him before taking a seat at his nod of approval.

Silence settles between them, thick and oppressive, filled with all of the things they want to say, but they just can't find the words for.

"It was different," Robin finally starts. His voice is soft and distant, as if the usual warmth of his tone has been cooled by the memories swirling through his mind.

"I miss it sometimes. The pizza, my friends. Things were so much simpler when I was there, but it wasn't real. I love my moms, and I love Storybrooke, the family I have here, the family I could have," he looks pointedly at Robin with that, trying to tell him with his eyes what he means, _'you could be part of that family.' _

"But?" Robin asks, lightly bumping his shoulder, his eyebrow arching up in question the same way his Mom's does when she wants to know something. He wonders for a minute if that's a soulmate thing, if the similarities in some of their expressions, the gestures they make that are almost identical, are because they share two pieces of the same soul.

"But," he starts nudging his shoulder back with a grin, "I miss that life sometimes. A life without magic, a life where my mothers weren't 'The Evil Queen' and 'The Savior.' It was just me and Emma, I was never adopted. I never told my mom she wasn't my mom. I never hurt her in that life because I didn't know who she was," he whispers the end, plucking another leaf from the branch above him, staring down as it as he worries it between his fingers so that he won't have to look at the man sitting next to him. .

"Hey, you know your mom loves you," strong hands grip both of his shoulders, turning him so they are facing one another. "We've both hurt her, in different ways, but Regina also understands, better than anyone, what it's like to have a second chance. She would hate it if she knew you were feeling this way, if you felt like you couldn't talk to her."

"I know, and it's not that, I just…" he sighs, running a hand absently through his hair. "You know, Mom once told me I would have more family than I knew what to do with one day, I just never thought it would be like this." He nudges the box with the toe of his sneakers.

"Things don't always turn out the way that we plan. Families don't take the shape you expected; you lose people and you gain people along the way." His voice is tight, choked with some kind of emotion; Henry isn't sure if it's grief over Marian or something darker, something to do with the twisted complications Zelena has brought to their lives.

"Like what's happened with the baby?" He ventures, a little nervous with how he'll respond. They haven't talked about this, it's been discussed of course, but not just the two of them, not without his mom there to soften things, to fill the empty areas of confusion and hurt with her resolve and determination.

"Yes, like what's happening with the baby. And like what happened to your dad," he gestures to the box still resting on the ground between them. "You just have to do the best that you can. You have so many people who love you Henry, we just want to help."

"I know," he smiles a little finally meeting Robin's eyes. _We_. He'd said we. Maybe things would be alright after all, they might still be a family despite everything that happened in the last few months.

"What is important is appreciating the time you have with those you love, and honoring the memory of the ones you have lost," he squeezes his shoulder, just a brief contact before he stands. "I'll leave you to look through that, take all the time you need. And if I'm not mistaken, I think there is a not-so-evil-queen that has been staring us down for the past few minutes who might need a little reassurance that everything is okay," he chuckles, turning and raising an eyebrow at the window where he knows his mom is still watching.

"Good luck with that," he chuckles, watching as he heads toward the house. "And Robin?" he calls.

"Yeah?" he questions, stopping and turning back for a moment.

"Thank you." The older man nods with a smile before turning . Henry watches for a moment tracking Robin's movement as he passes window after window, moving from room to room until he reaches his goal. A smile spreads across his face as he sees Robin pull his mother into his arms, the way she falls into him and her tension seems to melt away.

Satisfied that she's okay for now, that Robin will look after her, he turns back to the simple box at his feet, pulling it into his lap, he takes a deep breath and lifts the lid. Everything is jumbled up, shifted and scattered as if it's been jostled in transit. He pulls each item out: a wristwatch with a worn, broken, leather band; an empty lighter that sparks and fizzles as he runs his fingers across the rolling flint; a stack of sketches, cathedrals, images, faces that stare back at him with graphite eyes and chalk highlighted smiles; and finally, an oversized hoodie, the fabric worn and soft. He pulls it to his nose, hoping to catch some lingering hint of his father's scent, the father he barely knew, but all he smells is dust and cotton, the stuffy aroma of months spent encased in cardboard.

It's not much, just a few things that he can fit neatly inside of a single cardboard box, but it's all he has left of Neal, these paltry remnants of the only father he's ever known. Carefully stacking everything back into the box he breathes deeply, Robin's words coming back to him in the silence, _'things don't always work out the way that we planned.'_ His family is not traditional, he has two mothers (one who is also his step-great grandmother), his grandparents are Snow White and Prince Charming, his Wicked Witch Aunt is about to give birth to his cousin who could also be his potential stepbrother or stepsister; it's all complicated and not at all the way he would have planned it, but it's not something he would change.

Standing, he lifts the box and cradles it under one arm as he heads inside. Robin was right, he needs to appreciate the time he has with the people he loves, to soak up every second he has because there is no guarantee something won't come along and turn their world upside down again. _This _is his home, this is the life he would choose, the family he would pick despite all the messy confusing ties that bind them.

As he steps into the house his mother is there waiting for him, open arms and a shy smile, eyes shining with so much love he can feel it radiating off of her from across the room. Placing the box on the side table by the door he steps easily into her arms, hugging her back with every ounce of strength he can muster, breathing in the familiar cinnamon vanilla scent of her skin; he doesn't think he'll be missing New York anymore.


	17. Awkward Moments

He bursts through the doors to the great hall, mud covering his boots and leaving slippery tracks in his wake. His shirt is drenched, soaked through with blood and rain, pink tinged drops falling in little splashes with every hurried step he takes. In his arms he cradles an unconscious Regina, blood dripping from a wound on her forehead, the source of the injury hidden by the ebony locks that are matted to her skin, curling with moisture; the shaft of an arrow juts from the flesh of her thigh, blood seeping and spilling from the wound, creating a sickening scarlet puddle below where they stand.

She has never looked so small; pale and lifeless in Robin's large arms, draped limply across him, her clothes askew, perfect skin marred and broken.

"We need a healer! Quickly!" He bellows, casting a worried glance over the woman in his arms.

"Robin, what happened? What can we do?" Snow questions, waddling over to the couple, her hand rubbing anxiously over the swell of her pregnant belly, her Charming husband following closely behind.

"You can stay back," he bites. "It's your fault she's like this. If she hadn't been out searching for that root to help with your morning sickness she never would have been attacked alone!" His tirade is cut short by a sputtering cough followed by a low groan. Regina stirs in his embrace, eyes blinking open, momentarily fogged with confusion before focusing on the man holding her.

"Put. Me. Down." Her voice is airy and low, laced with pain, but it still manages to carry its usual regality. She's twitching in his arms now, pushing against him as his hold tightens around her.

"Regina, please. Doc and Blue will be here soon, they'll tend to your wounds and then you can…" Snow pleads.

"That moth isn't coming anywhere near me," she interrupts, fighting against Robin in earnest. "Put me down,Thief. _Now_." She commands with as much authority as her battered state will allow.

Reluctantly he eases her to the ground, keeping one arm looped solidly around her waist as she stands, hissing in pain the moment she puts weight on her injured leg. She staggers, pressing a hand reflexively to his chest to brace herself, pulling it back almost instantly as if she's been burned. "Let. Go." She snarls, glaring up at him until he reluctantly removes his arm from around her waist and takes a single step back; still close enough to catch her if she collapses, but far enough away that a thin bubble of air separates their bodies from any point of contact. Turning away from him she pushes past Snow and Charming, limping and guarding her wounded leg as she hobbles over to the long dining table in the center of the room, before leaning heavily against it.

"Must you always be so stubborn? You could have died out there! You were alone even though you know your sister is after you, and now you're refusing to see a healer? Regina, you're barely standing, please, let Blue heal you." He follows her movment, babbling with every step, but his voice softens at the end, all of the anger and fear fizzling out and softening into quiet desperation.

"It's Your Majesty," she corrects through gritted teeth. "And that wand toting insect won't be coming anywhere near me; she's caused enough damage for one lifetime." Closing her eyes she pulls in a shaky breath and pushes away from the table, grimacing at the sudden weight shift.

He stares in fascination as her hand comes up, a shimmering glow of lilac laced with brilliant white shining from her palm, flowing out and coasting along her body, wounds disappearing in its wake.

"There. Are you happy now?" she growls, hands fisting at her side as the last of the crackling magic dissipates in the air. She sways a little, trying to maintain her balance, to appear as healed and whole as she now seems to be physically, but he knows that level of magic would have taken a tole, exhausted her already weakened body, especially after the amount of magic she must have used fighting off Zelena's guards and the swarm of flying monkeys he'd found her surrounded by.

"I'd be happier if you'd stop carelessly risking yourself like this every other day," he snaps back, moving closer to where she stands, eyes sweeping across her to make sure each wound has mended, to reassure himself that she is in fact alive and well.

"Careless? You think I'm careless?" she questions with an incredulous laugh. "This, coming from the man whose son was almost swept away by one of Zelena's winged freaks because he was too busy cavorting with his other forest dwelling friends to look after his own child." She accuses, moving into his space, eyes narrowed and voice dripping with venom.

"That's not why it happened and you know it," he barks, staring down at her, stepping in until they are toe to toe. "Don't use your own grief to question the way I look after my child. I would do anything for Roland, you know that. You've spent time with him, with both of us. You can't keep pushing the way that you have these last few weeks, you're driving yourself into the ground!" He growls, panting for breath as he tries to supress the anger sloly boiling through his veins.

"Why are you still here?! Why do you care?" she roars, eyes wide and enraged, arms spread to the side, lifting in question.

"Because I'm in love with you, you foolish woman!" he thunders back, eyes locked with hers as the room falls silent.

Her eyes have gone wide, her mouth slackened in shock as she stares at the man before her. There's no biting retort, no stinging insult, just open, vulnerable bewilderment, but then her eyes shift, a determination solidifying behind her gaze and he immediately knows what she's going to do.

"Regina, don't you dare…" he growls, but before he can finish her hands swing up between them, purple smoke trailing in their wake, whisking her out of the room.

"Well, that was awkward," Charming grumbles from his place at the back of the room, doubling over with an 'oompf' when he receives a swift elbow to the gut from his wife.


	18. Surrender

He's exhausted. The days all blur together, a twisted jumble of scribbled pages, whispered summons, darkened eyes and bellowing screams. His mother is exhausted, running herself ragged and raw trying desperately to pull her friend back from the darkness; eyes bloodshot and fingers bleeding from reading spell after spell, concocting potion after useless potion, driving herself to insanity in her desperation to reclaim _her _from the darkness.

He can't lose both his mothers. He won't. This needs to end, today.

Gripping the dagger with shaking hands he calls into the wind, "Emma Swan. _Mom_, I summon thee."

She appears in a swirl of acrid smoke, twitching and snarling like a crazed animal, eyes wide and pleading.

"Henry, _please_," she begs, voice hitching and cracking, the pitch too high, the cadence all wrong. She's not his mother anymore, she ceased to be the woman he loves when that _thing _corrupted her. What little is left of her lingers there behind her eyes, trapped, begging, and he's tired of fighting back.

A small smile tugs at his lips, a final goodbye painted across his face as he gazes at the remnants of his birth mother; the woman he desperately longed for when he thought his mother wasn't enough, the woman he grew to know and love, the woman who knit his family back together, who mended the bonds and made them whole again.

"I surrender," a simple statement, offered like a pardon as he embraces his mother one last time, sliding the dagger into her back, breathing in her last breath as the world fizzles and burns, her screams dissolving into a final whispered caress of "_I love you_" pressed against his ear as she fades in his arms and his vision dims to black.


	19. Of Potions and Motherhood

It happened suddenly, burning through the castle with murderous intent, leaving chaos and destruction in its wake. They'd become weak, decades spent in a world with clean, running water and antibiotics softening their immune systems and leaving them susceptible to infection; their bodies open and ready for illness to take hold, with no means to keep it at bay.

It started with a slight cough, just a tickle in the back of a throat that slowly seeped into the chest, clogging airways with fluid and grime before morphing into a fever so high it left the skin crackled and dry. The dull ache of illness seeping into bones and weakening muscle, sapping every bit of strength as it progressed, leaving half of the castle bedridden and desperate for care by the time it was finished. Most of them were able to battle it off, to live on thin broth and purified water, herbal teas and poultices reeking of earth and sulfur slathered across their chests; but some were not so lucky.

The old and the young suffered the worst, their losses the most bittersweet and painful of all. They did what they had to do; they buried their dead, they mourned for their lost loves, parents and grandparents, lovers and children, and they tried to move on, to help those who were still in danger. To save those who were still living, instead of dwelling on those already dead.

But some losses were too hard to bear.

She knew better. She should have known better. Her love was a poison, marking anyone she dared to love, anyone foolish enough to love her in return, for torture and anguish. This was her fault, somehow someway, the sweet, dimple cheeked boy who warmed her heart, who reminded her what it was to love despite the losses she had born, the son she had already lost, was paying the price for the darkness that surrounded her life. And she would never forgive herself.

Taking a deep breath she moves to the bed, a basin of cool water balanced delicately in her hands that she settles on the side table before soaking a cloth in its depths. With the gentle, practiced hands of a mother she soothes his brow, wiping away sweat and grime until he is resting more comfortably, momentarily relieved from the pain wracking his body.

They tried everything, every healing potion from every spell book within the castle and a few she recalled from her lessons with Rumple. Nothing worked.

So now, here they are, sitting together, Roland draped across her arms, whimpering and twisting from the fever coursing through his tiny body, eyes glazed staring up at them both. She fights to smile, to comfort him through the tears leaking down her face as Robin chokes and sobs next to her, his hand running through the matted curls on his boy's forehead over and over.

His breath rattles, a cough shaking through his tiny frame as he fights to keep his eyes open.

"I love you Roland," Robin whispers, voice cracking and shuddering. "We love you," he corrects, reaching over and clasping her fingers with his own and that's when she loses it, tears flooding down her face as she clenches his hand, holding on for dear life, pulling her Little Knight tighter into her embrace.

A smile tugs at his lips, weak and brief, but a smile. His dimples wink up at them for the first time in what seems like months and it forces a broken laugh to spill from their lips. She leans down, pressing a kiss to his clammy forehead, brushing the hair away from his burning skin.

"I love you, sweet boy," she whispers against his skin as his eyes flutter closed.

His breath stops. Eyes sealed and body limp. She checks his pulse just to be sure, but he's gone.

He's gone and she couldn't save him. Just like she couldn't save Henry.

She's not meant to be a mother

She never was.


	20. Dark Possibilities

_This is just a little 'What if Snow and Charming didn't case the second Dark Curse' AU that wouldn't leave my brain. I'll just leave this here so I can go back to writing other things. Missing year, warning character death. _

* * *

She's not sure how much more of this she can listen to. They've been spouting nonsense from the moment they stepped back through that godsforsaken door; muttering about light magic and talismans, The Savior and The Dark Curse.

"Are you out of your minds? Even if I believed this Glinda, which I don't, to cast the Dark Curse I have to destroy the heart of the thing I love most, which for me, is Henry." She roars at them, pacing anxiously in front of the fallen log Snow had settled on.

"There has to be another way to enact it." Snow suggests, panic rising in her voice as she rubs a hand anxiously over her swollen belly. .

"If there were, do you think I would have killed my own father?" She questions, arching one perfect eyebrow in challenge. Snow matches it with a shrug of her own before heaving a defeated sigh.

"What about a magic bean? If we had one we could open a portal. Or Jefferson's hat?" Charming offers, grasping at any possibilities he can think of.

"There are no more portals. Not for us. Not for anyone the curse brought back. When I undid the first curse, to escape Pan, to bring us here, it divided our realms. It placed a wall between them." She explains, calmly, as if she's talking to a child; that seems to be the only way to get information across to these two.

"So The Dark Curse _is _the only way." Snow whispers, eyes downcast.

"Haven't you been listening?! I. Can't. Cast it! The thing I love most is Henry, and he isn't here!" she waves her arms in exasperation. "And even if he was I wouldn't do it. I refuse."

"But is he Regina? Is he still the thing you love most?" Snow questions, eyes soft and open as she looks up at her former stepmother.

"Of course he is! He's my son! No amount of distance or time will ever change that." She fires back, chest clenching painfully as her mind swirls with thoughts of her Little Prince realms away.

"But what about your new family?" She asks cautiously.

She looks down at the princess for a moment, confusion coloring her brow. No. She can't be serious.

"What about Robin and Roland?" She starts, voice picking up speed as she rushes through her explanation, desperation driving her forward. "You love them, I know you do, no matter how hard to try to hide it from everyone. And they love you too." She finishes, panting for breath.

"How dare you." She growls, eyes narrow and menacing. "Stealing one True Love from me wasn't enough for you? Now you want to take Robin too?" She demands, voice rising, the pitch high and strained on the last question. Anger floods through her veins, squeezing her throat and clouding her vision.

"We can do it." David suddenly suggest, something like hope sparking behind his eyes as the tension immediately bleeds away. "You can cast it." He crouches down beside Snow, pulling her hands into his own, face split with a smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes.

"No. Our child needs you. _I_ need you. We'll find another way, we always find another way." She babbles, eyes desperately flicking between her true love and her former stepmother, her voice dripping with hope and blind faith.

If only that were enough.

Snow stares up at her, eyes wide and innocent and she's suddenly transported back in time to a similar night long ago, full of whispered secrets and scraped knees, before all of the torment between them began. She looks so much like the child she rescued, the sweet princess she saved and raised against her will, but who she couldn't help loving despite all of the hate and grief tangled around them. She never could say no to those eyes.

"I think I know of another way. We should get back to the castle." And with that she turns and trudges back through the forest, not bothering to see if they follow.

It's hours later, the sun is starting to set painting the courtyard in brilliant shades of violet and magenta, ambers and hot pinks streaking across the sky. It's a beautiful night, at least she'll have that to hold on to. She stares into the cauldron, holding her hands above the bubbling liquid until her skin feels raw and scorched, the harsh smell invading her senses and bringing back memories of a curse cast in the name of vengeance that left the same tang of ash on her tongue, the same adrenaline rushing through her veins.

"There has to be another way to get back to Emma," a voice calls from behind her, pulling her out of her trance.

"No this is it. You know if there were I would have gone back to Henry. This is it...this sacrifice." She whispers, pulling a heart from the pouch looped around her wrist, looking down at the patches of shining red and swirling blackness dancing below its surface. "He'll be here soon. You should go." She sighs, slipping the heart back into its resting place, hidden and safe at least for now.

"Regina," she pauses, until the woman she has both admired and hated turns to face her. "I have always loved you." She stops, emotion clogging her throat.

"I know dear. And look at all the good it's done us." She smiles sadly at the girl who was once like her daughter before becoming her enemy, but is now something of a friend, something like family, before turning away.

She feels when he enters the courtyard long before she turns to see him. The same electric current tingling up her spine that always announces his presence. Spinning to face him she extends her hand, blinking back tears as he slides his fingers through hers and steps into her, resting his forehead against hers, breathing in the silence, prolonging the moment before their last goodbye.

"Are you ready?" She asks, leaning back to look him in the eye.

"Are you sure there is no other way?"

"Robin, we've been over this." She starts to rush into an explanation, but he can't hear it again; their conversation has been running through his brain all afternoon since she discussed it with him the first time, so he does the only thing he can think of to stop her. He brushes his lips against hers, tangling his hand in the loose curls at the nape of her neck. Under any other circumstance it would be soothing, a tender expression of affection, lips dragging back and forth languidly, tongues sliding and caressing, but they both know they are only delaying the inevitable.

"Robin, do you love me?" she asks, fingers curled desperately around the collar of his jacket as they break apart, eyes sparkling with tears she refuses to let fall.

"Yes. I do," he answers solemnly, lips bussing hers for a moment to reinforce his confession. "I love you Regina, more than I ever thought possible, but not enough to do this, not to do what you're asking."

She breathes out a broken laugh, watery and miserable, choked with the bitterness of the moment. He loves her, but of course he will always love his child more, she understands that better than anyone else. Pulling a small vial from the pocket of her gown she lifts it into the space between them, the liquid sloshing and shining in the dim light around them.

"You need to drink this." She chokes out, pressing the potion into his hand. "It's a forgetting potion, but it's only temporary. You'll forget Roland, just until after the spell is cast. He won't be a factor anymore so you'll be able to cast the curse."

"No Regina, I won't!" He cries, trying to force the vial back into her fingers, but she refuses to take it.

"This is the only way, we need Emma to defeat Zelena, and no one will miss the Evil Queen. It's better this way." She sighs, running her fingers along the stubble on his chin, memorizing every inch of his face with wandering fingertips and tear filled eyes. "Tell Henry I loved him, that I did this for him, for all of you."

"This won't be in vain, I promise you that." He releases her, removes the stopper from the bottle and swallows it down in one go. His eyes squeeze shut as the potion takes effect, the vial slipping from his grasp and shattering on the stones below.

"Robin?" She asks, grasping his chin until his eyes open, looking back at her filled with anguish.

"Yes, my love?" he questions, drawing her hand from his chin and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

"Do you know what you have to do?" He nods, and she breathes a sigh of relief, pulling her heart from its place inside the bag.

"I have loved you from the first moment I saw you," he whispers, thumb rubbing along the apple of her cheek, swiping away her tears.

"And I will love you until my last," she vows.

"I love you, more than anything," he swears, eyes locked on hers, tears steadily streaming in silent trails down his face.

"And that's why you have to crush it." She presses her heart into his hand, then trails her fingers along his palm until they are loosely grasping his wrist; she guides his hand until it balanced over the edge of the cauldron before releasing her grip. "Don't say goodbye." she cups his cheek, idly running her thumb along the softness of his skin, while her other hand rests over his heart. "Just kiss me, and then let me go."

She sighs as his mouth fuses with hers, the salt of their tears clinging to their lips and tainting the kiss. It's only a moment, a soft exchange filled with regret, grief, love, and _goodbye_. She cries out, lips separating from his with an agonized sound as he crushes her heart, letting the dust fall from his palm into the waiting curse below. The moment the last of the dust leaves his shaking fingers he falls to his knees, pulling her lifeless body into his lap

A clap of thunder sounds, ringing through the air drowning out the sound of his sobs as Snow and Charming rush into the courtyard.

"It worked," Snow breathes, a mixture of shock and horror coloring her expression.

"Yes, it did." Robin chokes out from his place on the ground, eyes never leaving Regina's still face.

"You fools!" They suddenly hear from above, a strong burst of wind blowing against them as they look up to find Zelena sweeping in, landing gracefully in front of them. "You sacrificed your beloved for nothing," she sneers, "I needed her heart! She was the final ingredient and now you're ruined everything!"

"Then bring her back. There must be a way! Take my heart, it's strong enough for the both of us. Take mine and split it, give half of it to her." Robin begs. "Please, I'll give you anything you want."

"There is nothing you can give me archer, nothing as valuable as what you have already wasted. You'll just have to live with what you've done, knowing that her sacrifice meant nothing in the end and I will still destroy you all." With a flick of her wrist, her broom appears in her hand and she slides onto it, flying away into the night, a cackle spilling from her lips and echoing around them long after she's gone.

Thunder erupts as smoke billows from the cauldron, thick heavy clouds of it spilling over and expanding, swallowing everything in their path, sweeping them away to a land without magic, a world filled with story book characters who have nothing left to fear from the Evil Queen. Robin clutches her lifeless body, cradles it against his chest and cries into the face of the storm, the weight of what he's done crushing him from all sides as he feels his heart splinter in his chest, broken and crying out for the missing piece of his soul that just shattered into dust. Her final heroic act that now has no meaning at all.


	21. A mysterious place, the land of tears

Robin said she was his future, but he was wrong.

Whatever future she had, or foolishly allowed herself to hope for, was wrapped in funeral whites, resting silently inside the shining teak box lowering into the ground before her eyes.

She may have been his future, but he was never hers.

She thought of burying him in her mausoleum, adding his name to the long list of those she has loved and lost, but he never belonged behind stone walls. This was right, laying him to rest surrounded by the fresh scent of pine and damp earth, somewhere the sun could shine and warm his bones instead of tucked away in cold marble.

She can't bring herself to cry, not here, with everyone gathered under funeral-black umbrellas watching her every move. Their eyes bore into the back of her spine, slither along her limbs, and burn across her face, searching for any sign, waiting for the walls to crack and the Queen to be released.

But she's better than that.

Emma is weeping beside her, deep shattering sobs punctuated by watery gasping hiccups of breath. If the rain hadn't already soaked the ground, Emma certainly would have. Snow and Charming linger a foot behind their daughter, standing solid and silent in their grief. At least they've had the decency to allow her this, unnecessary though it may be.

They all expect her to be full of simmering rage, for the madness it took 28 years and the love of one precious little boy to lock away to come crawling back complete with fireball fingers and manic eyes. She has lost love before and it made her do unspeakable things, but now she has lost a piece of her soul and all she feels is _numb_.

Her fingers slide into the pile of earth mounded at her feet, fist filling with soil that is not quite dry, but not quite mud as she steps up to the gaping mouth of the grave. For a moment she debates throwing herself into the hole, allowing the dirt to cover her, sealing her below with the one she loves, but she lets the thought slip away, falling from her mind as the dirt tumbles from her loosening fingers leaving a muddy smear on her hand.

One by one the others step forward, filling the grave with scattered handfuls of earth before turning and trudging away until only the family remains. They should go, _she _should go, but she can't bring herself to leave. She can't return home to her too big house that will never be filled, she can't turn and face the waiting future that he will never be in.

"Come on love, let's go home." His voice is soft and warm, it claws through the numbness, carving out a little light in the expanding void.

She nods, attempting to give him a ghost of a smile, though she can't feel if her face has moved at all. He said she was his future, and now he is all that is left of hers.

His hand slides to the small of her back as he tries to guide her away, but she stops; she still has one thing left to say. Handing him her umbrella she steps out into the continuing spray of rain, plucking her gloves off as she moves away from him back toward the grave.

She raises her fingers to her lips, then presses them to the stone in a final goodnight kiss.

"Goodbye, my Little Prince."


	22. Relax, Relate, Release

He's greeted by a sad sort of clanging, the tin-toned melody of the hallway piano filtering through the open windows and across the porch steps to meet him in the front yard. It's too cold today for the windows to be open.

He burrows further into his scarf, the blue and red striped one Mom made for him all those years ago. She must have woven some kind of magic into the thread because even after all these years, winters that splashed it with snowflakes and runny nose wipes, hundreds of washes and thousands of days, it's still as soft and warm as the day she gave it to him, not an ounce of wear, not a touch of fading. He smiles for a moment, breathing in the crisp Maine air that's just a touch too cold for comfort through the cottony filter of the scarf covering his mouth then he bounds up the stairs. _Home._

The music stops as he knocks on the door, a filtered shuffling taking its place as someone approaches the door. The heavy wood swings open and there she is, _Mom_; her hair has faded to a shimmering silver, her skin soft and paper-thin, but the warmth is still there behind her familiar brown eyes when she smiles; love like that never ages.

"Henry," she breathes, opening her arms for a hug he quickly walks into, cradling her tiny frame against his chest. She's never been frail his mother, she's always been strong and stubborn, resilient and firm and _there_, but he can't help but notice how small she feels in his arms, as if a strong gust of wind would just blow her away.

"Mom, it's freezing in here. Why do you have the windows open?" He asks as he pulls out of the embrace, looping one of her hands through his arm so he can support her as they walk further into the house.

"Oh, Henry," she scoffs, "nonsense. It's supposed to be 95 degrees today. I thought it would be nice to have a little breeze before the heat sets in this afternoon. Maybe we can go for ice cream later, would you like that?"

"Mom," he stops, turning so they're facing each other. "Mom, look at me. It's the middle of November. Thanksgiving is next week. It's supposed to snow later today."

The way her face pinches up in confusion, brows furrowing and framing deep pools of whiskey-colored despair staring back at him cuts him like a knife. He couldn't just let it go, he couldn't just play along, he had to do _this_. He had to wound her when she's done nothing at all.

"But, it's warm," she argues, stepping away on shaky legs; he'll never understand why she insists on wearing heels, even at her age. "We were going to get ice cream. I just wanted to take you for ice cream. You always used to love that...when you were a little boy." He can see the moment the clarity comes back to her, a brief flickering sigh of reality entering her lungs. "Oh, Henry. You're not a little boy anymore." She steps back to him, lifting a hand to cup his cheek. "You're grown, and I missed it all."

There are tears gathering in her eyes and damn it, this was not the point of today. He wasn't supposed to upset her today.

"No, you didn't Moma, you were here the whole time." _Relax. Relate. Release. Relax, relate, release._ He repeats it to himself, over and over in his mind like a mantra, willing it to bring him some kind of peace or insight or whatever bollocks that therapist he pays too much money to help him deal with all of this said those three stupid words were supposed to bring. It only makes him want to cry more. "You just don't remember," he finally says around his tears.

"Don't cry, my Little Prince. Don't cry," she coos, wiping away his tears with the papery pads of her fingers. "I'm right here."

And for a second she is. He can see her, she's there, his mother, not the weathering shell decorated with the scraps of her mind, but _her_. The gratitude punches him in the gut, bubbling out in a gasp of laughter as he pulls her into another hug, squeezing just a little bit too tight and breathing in the traces of vanilla and clove and a whisper of apple that always seems to cling to her skin.

But just like that, the moment is gone.

She stiffens in his arms, pulling away from him like a startled deer. "Henry. You're home," she repeats, stepping in for another hug that feels more like someone has kicked him in the teeth. "You know what I thought we'd do today? Why don't we go for ice cream, would you like that?"

"Sure, Mom. Let's go get ice cream," he warbles, voice watery and thick. "Let's get your coat, it's a bit chilly outside."

"Nonsense, it's supposed to be 95 degrees today." She waves him off with a scoff and a smile, but he pulls her coat from the hallway closet just the same. A wry grin tips at his lips when she rolls her eyes but complies and slides it on, for his sake, she always would do anything for his sake.

He makes sure she's bundled up tight, her coat buttoned and her gloves tugged on, her scarf knotted just right, before he loops her hand back through the crook of his arm and escorts her out. He listens as she chatters away, mostly nonsense stories about her day, things that he knows didn't happen this morning, but may have happened on some day before, in whatever memory her brain has pulled her into.

Halfway to Any Given Sundae he notices the end of his scarf starts to fray, the threads splitting and spreading, the color fading as inch by inch it begins to fall away. He pulls it off in a panic, cradling it in his hands as it crumbles before his eyes, threadbare and dry-rotted, slipping through his fingers like sand.

"Mom. Mom! What's happening?" He cries in a panic, but when he looks up he's met with a vacantly sweet, weathered face.

"Hello. I'm on my way to get an ice cream, would you like to join me?" His mother's voice replies, only she isn't his mother, not anymore. She may never be again.

She must have sown some magic into that scarf after all, woven a piece of her into the fabric to keep it alive, to preserve it for him. But now it's faded away with what's left of her mind, nothing but memory and dust in the wind.


	23. The Moments That Remain

"I still see her, you know? Like in the corner of my eyes, little flashes," he pauses to tip his pint slightly, staring down into the sudsy dregs at the bottom of the glass. "I'll see her as I turn, but then she's just gone."

The other man at the bar just _hmms _in agreement, staring into his own lager. He knows his companion isn't finished so he just waits. He sips his beer and stares straight ahead, allowing the illusion of privacy, as if looking over would be an invasion in what is already a deeply intimate conversation.

"She should be the one doing this. She should be the one to buy me my first legal drink. Not that I don't appreciate you doing it, or everything else you've done, it's just..."

The words stop and Robin looks over, sees the barely held back tears shining in Henry's eyes as the boy, _the man_, sitting next to him gulps down what's left of his lukewarm beer around the lump in his throat.

"I know, Henry. I know," Robin mutters, clapping the boy on the shoulder and signalling for the bartender to pour them another round while he pretends not to see Henry wiping his eyes with the end of his sleeve.

The barman walks over setting their fresh pints in front of them, but before he can collect their empty glasses and head back down the bar Henry stops him. "Wait, do you have Dalwhinnie?

"A 15 and an 18 year," the bartender says.

"We'll take two of the 15, straight, please." Henry says, with a confidence and maturity that has Robin shaking his head with a smile. He can't believe the boy is 21 already; if only Regina could see it too.

The bartender nods and goes to retrieve their second set of drinks, returning a moment later and setting them next to their pints. Robin picks one up, rolling his wrist just enough to send the amber liquid swirling around in the glass. The smell of smoke and peat with just a hint of caramel softness hits him and he breathes in a dagger of memory that stings of _Regina _even after all this time.

"This was your mother's favorite," Robin muses after he's blinked away the fog of grief.

"I know," Henry replies, raising his own glass and clinking it against Robin's. "To Mom."

"To your mother," Robin replies, tipping his glass in a matching toast before knocking it back.

The taste floats around his mouth and he finds himself stalling on taking a sip of his beer; he wants the flavor to linger just a moment longer, for the ghost of whiskey kisses and summer smiles to rest on his lips before he washes it away with the bitterness of hops and the years that have come and gone since he last drank with her.

This time it's Henry who wraps his hand around Robin's shoulder, giving him the standard double tap and release with a knowing smile. "Thanks, Robin. For everything."


End file.
